Fine Line
by StarkidAndPotterPleasE
Summary: "Just remember that not everyone came out on the right side of this war. Fine lines were drawn and good people stumbled over them." Dramione post-war fic
1. Play Your Hand

A/N: This was a one-shot, but I decided to continue. Hopefully I don't ruin anything. Enjoy.

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**Chapter 1: Play Your Hand**

This was the first funeral he had attended. As a child, when a member of his family died, Draco had been able to weasel his way out of going- he found it was easy to get the best of a grief-stricken mother.

Now, clutching a peony roughly shoved into his hand by a red-headed doorman, no doubt a distant Weasley relative, the young man regretted his stubborn whining. For both his sake and his poor mothers, he wished he had attended those funerals. Maybe then he'd know what he was supposed to be doing here.

The seats were all full. He had expected a sea of red and freckles, staring and crying daggers aimed towards himself. What he found, instead, was a lawn full eerily quiet people recognizable from Hogwarts, from his father's dinner parties- how long ago they now seemed- and pictures in the Prophet. "New Times, New Minister," the paper had said, an important-looking Kingsley Shacklebolt smiling confidently underneath. And there he sat, no smile on his face, nor guards or Aurors at his side. In their place was Bill Weasley and his wife, his scarred face and her perfect one both marred with tears.

The three of them sat amongst the Weasleys and their closest friends- those with whom they had fought not more than a week ago. The whole clan filled the long second and third rows, leaving the first empty. Granger and Potter sat on either side of Ron and his sister, Ginny. They were silent, except for Hermione, not to Malfoy's surprise, who was muttering to Ron- comforting him, probably, through her own tears. Ginny's face was like stone. She stared straight forward, and as Malfoy moved his attention to the last in their group, he was met with Potter's confused eyes.

The odd thing was this face was not the one of suspicion and hate Malfoy had grown accustomed to. It was, instead, confusion and hate. The blonde wizard quickly dropped his gaze. He wasn't here for a fight. He didn't know why he was here.

Instead of sitting, he chose to stay where he was- standing in the back. He had no one to sit with, anyways. The aforementioned dinner guests of his father's were no longer cordial with his family. As soon as Voldemort had lost, they considered their dear friends, the Malfoy's, a disgrace, or "Pureblood supremacists."

Aurthur Weasley came to stand behind a podium at the head of it all. He had tears running down his face, crying without shame in a way that made Malfoy envious of both a poor man at his own son's funeral and the poor man's son. Weasley got straight to the point.

"Fred and George like to tease Molly and me about how we we aren't proud of them. Their brothers were prefects, got good grades. Their sister is the only girl, our little angel that we waited so long for- I don't think I ever said this to Fred in this way, and I wish I had." He paused to sniffle and wipe a few tears off his face. "Fred can make you smile- so can George. Even when- we all know smiling was hard for a while. Even then. I could never have been more proud..."

Draco couldn't hear Mr. Weasley anymore- he had spotted George. Mrs. Weasley had her arms wrapped around Fred's identical twin protectively as Percy rubbed her back, trying to control her weeping. George had an arm around her, his face much like his that of his sister- expressionless. His eyes and the copious amount of tears that leaked from them gave him away, though, where hers didn't. Draco could barely stand to look at him, never mind how it must have been for the Weasleys- he was Fred minus an ear, a constant reminder.

Applause from the crowd brought Draco back to the speech a second to late as Mr. Weasley went back to his seat.

An athletic girl with a pretty face came up next. She was crying as well- looking around now, Draco could see that nearly everyone was- but she attempted to hide it. She was vaguely recognizable- he could remember her hanging around with the Weasley twins.

"I'm Angelina Johnson," she helpfully introduced herself. "I was a close friend of Fred's."

Angelina took a deep breath and pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket; she had pre-written something. She continued, looking off of it.

"We're here to celebrate Fred Weasley. What I can say for him is that he was a good guy, but we can't act like he this perfect, innocent kid. We've all played happy victim to his tricks long enough to know this isn't true." She looked up and smiled, receiving a good amount of laughs. The pranks of the Weasley's were known far and wide. Malfoy was beginning to realize this would be one of those laugh-so-you-don't-cry speeches.

"Faking innocence was a specialty of Fred's though. A few of us had a theory at school that he- that the teachers never wanted to catch him or George for any of their schemes. We thought they had to at least find the jokes a little funny. And I hate to group Fred and George together," she looked towards George's area of the second row, "but how else can I talk about them? They're my best friends, and they're loyal and honest and all that as far as I'm concerned. But too each other... I'd say they're joined at the hip, but it's more like joined at the brain. I can- I can only imagine how hard-." She looked away from George and down at the podium.

"Fred is watching over us from up there, I know he is. He's laughing at us for being such babies about this, and he's missing his family and he's waiting for the next Wizard's Weezes product, and for all of us to stop crying and start smiling again. I know he is." She left the podium quickly, her face away from the crowd. Draco could tell she was sobbing from the shaking of her shoulders as she sat.

Those around him began to whisper now, and bits and pieces were overheard.

"The twin's going now, I heard."

"I heard he didn't think he'd be able to talk about-"

"I heard Molly wouldn't let him."

"Absolute rubbish. It's his brother. I don't-"

They all fell silent as George sunk into a standing position, walking slowly towards the podium. Molly Weasley clung to Percy now, not watching. George stood behind the podium looking smaller than usual, a practiced face of only slight sadness and anger on his face, ruined by his tears. He stood and looked at everyone for a minute. When he finally spoke, his voice was slow and it broke mid-sentence.

"It's not fair. It's really not. I shouldn't have to go on without part of myself and he shouldn't have to be gone forever."

Malfoy's thumb nail dug into the peony he still held. He tried to concentrate on his pulse, counting the beats; he tried to picture his blood pumping through his body- his pure, clean blood. He wanted to rip out his veins, to not be a part of this. He wanted the blood out of him. It felt dirty and it burned his insides. Rip out his veins, let the blood lay on the ground, on everyone around him, but not in him. He didn't do any of this, or at least he didn't want to have done it.

"This wasn't- this wasn't his bloody war." George continued, hands in tight fists. "This wasn't any of our war- this wasn't even a war. It was a attempted genocide and a successful rebellion. My brother is not a war casualty, he is a rebel hero."

George laughed quietly and without smiling. "He would like that title better, anyways. I-" he cursed, hitting his fist on the top of the podium. "Everyone keeps bloody telling me that he'd want me happy. I know. I know what he'd want, I do. He'd also want to kick the ass of every Death Eater that's still lucky enough to be alive when he's not, and I-," George composed himself with a deep breath just the second Malfoy did the same.

"He's my brother and I love him and I can't help but think it should had been me, but if it was he'd be here saying the same thing to all of you. But I still wish it would have been like that, that he hasn't left me here without him." George cried now. For the first time most of the people at the funeral had ever seen, including Draco, he really cried. He was sobbing and gasping for breath and his family was soon around him, blocking him from view in a mass of red, unruly hair.

Fleur came to the front of the mob at the podium, speaking for the rest, who couldn't. "I think zat it was ze plan to 'ave all of ze guest say a final goodbye to Fred. If you please-," she motioned to a casket, to the right of the podium.

A line formed quickly as Fleur went back to the family. Draco waited a bit where he was standing, watching as the people in line passed Fred's casket, which was open, and dropped their peony next to it. As they stopped, some looked at him fondly; others said a few words. When Draco finally joined the line he was last, with only the Weasley family left to join. The line was going fast now; the guests were less familiar and most just set down their flower and kept walking. As they moved, Draco's gaze drifted across the rows of chairs. The empty first row, as he assumed, had been reserved who had also lost their lives. _Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Colin Creevey, Sirius Black, Alastor Moody..._ it was a long row.

Professor McGonnagal was a few people ahead of Draco, and he watched as she set down the flower at the base of his casket and straightened back up. She was muttering something, her eyes shiny with tears. It looked as if she were scolding him quietly.

The line continued to move quickly, though it felt like days for Draco. He tried to think of something, anything to say. He considered dropping the flower and walking away. After all, he was never friends with Fred. It didn't feel right. He stepped up finally and set his flower down and looked down at Fred, preserved perfectly for this funeral and wearing a bright, tweed suit. He face was smiling, but it seemed faint, as his eyes were closed.

"We're not terribly different, you know," Draco said, expressionless. His nose stung from the smell of the pile of peonies, his least favorite smell. "You just got the good side of it all, the good family."

If this were his funeral, if he had died during the war, no one would have come. He may not have even had a funeral. No one cared what happened to the Death Eaters now as long as they were gone and punished. That's what he was, he supposed, a Death Eater. He helped them; he worked with them. He didn't fight with them, but that was laughable. He didn't fight because he was a coward. He knew he was a coward. He didn't have a moral high ground in any situation.

Draco stared down at Fred, tears in his eyes. He was crying for Fred and he was crying for himself, and then he was crying because he was so selfish for doing so. At the forefront of his minds, though, was one thing. He wanted to be Fred Weasley. He wanted to be the dead man if it was the honorable man.

"You were a funny guy. Sorry, Fred."

He sniffled and wiped a few stray tears of his face, turning to leave. He made eye contact with a red-faced, wet-eyed Ron, who poked Hermione. He pointed Draco out to her, unabashed, saying something in her ear. She shook her head, shushing him, and took his arm, steering him the other direction.

For that, Draco was thankful. He wasn't here to make a scene, he was here to apologize. Not to the family- he wasn't ready for that-, but to Fred. He may not have personally killed the young man, but he played a hand in it.

He would play the hand no more.


	2. Duties

A/N: So I've decided to make my one-shot into a actual fanfic. I'll be alternating between Draco and Hermione's POVs, so this one is Hermione.

This is a bit shorter, but enjoy!

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**Chapter 2: Duties**

Hermione noticed that her hair was getting darker. She had been sending so much time inside this summer, especially compared to the time she spent outside traveling during the school year- if you could call it a school year, as she had spent no time in school. I wasn't an odd thing to notice, but Hermione did find it an inappropriately vain thing to notice directly after the funeral of someone whom she considered a dear friend. It wasn't that Hermione was being disrespectfu. She was, in fact, trying to do the exact opposite as Ron fumed, pacing to the best of his abilities in his small room. She just wanted to let him get on with it without comment on her part.

"You don't show up to the funeral of someone who hated you! You just don't!" Ron roughly pushed a chair farther into his desk, moving it out of the way of his furious walking.

Harry spoke quietly from his seat on Ron's bed, next to Hermione. "Malfoy's a git. He's always been."

Ron scoffed. "This is a bit beyond name-calling and quidditch fouls."

Hermione continued in her quiet sitting, a little annoyed at Ron's comment. Sure, the name-calling was just name-calling when you weren't the one on the receiving end. To her, the "Mudblood," "filth" and "animal," words could hurt. She had a scar to remind her of that everyday.

All the same, she didn't see much wrong with Malfoy's attendance of the funeral. He didn't cause a scene; he didn't even talk to anyone besides Fred. He came, listened respectfully, said a few words to the deceased and left. Of course, Hermione wouldn't say this. She couldn't, Ron being so upset, and rightfully so, over his brother's death.

And she wouldn't have to say anything, as she was soon rescued by the Minister of Magic himself.

Kingsley entered silently after he knocked twice on the already opened door. Even in this wuiet, his presence commanded attention and respect. This wasn't just something that came with being Misister of Magic; it was something that came with being Kingsley Shacklebolt.

Ron stopped pacing. Hermione snapped to attention. The Chosen One sat up a little straighter. All three were silenced.

"Could I talk to you for a second, Miss Granger?" Hermione was surprised. She figured he was here to talk to Ron about Fred, or possibly discuss saving-the-world things with Harry. She stood up, nonetheless, and followed the minister into Fred and George's room. It was a sad room to be in. Fred and George had gotten their own flat with money from the joke shop, but George had moved back into the Burrow after the Battle. This meant, while George's side of the room had time to get messy in the passing weeks, Fred's side of the room was immaculate. Hermione had never thought cleanliness such a sad sight.

Kingsley closed the door and turned back to the young witch. "I don't mean to catch you off guard, Hermione. I know I'm the big, scary minister now."

"It's alright," Hermione smiled. She ventured at being a bit more casual. He was, after all, technically a comrade in arms. "You're still Kingsley."

He smiled; casual seemed to be okay. "I am. And as your old friend more so than as your minister, I have to ask you a favor." Hermione nodded her agreement and he continued. "I know you're headed back to school soon, and you're going alone this year- without Ron and Harry, I mean. How do you feel about that?"

"I'd rather them come, of course, but they need to do Auror training. They're excited for it." Hermione shrugged. "I'll miss them."

Shacklebolt smiled. "I know you three are very close. I do think that them not returning to Hogwarts alongside you this year will give you a good chance to branch out, however." Hermione shifted her weight. Kingsley did not lean when he stood, instead he stood rod-straight. Somehow, though, he always looked at ease.

"You're right."

"Just remember that not everyone came out on the right side of this war. Fine lines were drawn and good people stumbled over them." Hermione was silent, so Kingsley continued. "I'll be straightforward. I want you to watch out for the people that ended up on the wrong side of that line. Potter and Weasley are training to be Aurors, but you opted to go to school."

Hermione looked down. She still felt terrible for rejecting his offer to join the Ministry directly, but she felt she needed to complete her last year of school. She loved school. The fact that she felt so ungrateful made her want to help Kingsley with this favor even more. It also left her wondering if he had planned for that to happen.

Kingsley went on. "This school year could be your training. There are students attending Hogwarts this year that have strong ties to the Voldemort and his followers. I don't want you to keep them out of trouble, I just want you to make sure that they are left to heir reconsidering. I want you to do your best to make sure the war for unity was for unity, not bias in the other direction. They are still just children."

"Of course." To Hermione, it sounded as if she would be a glorified hall monitor, like the ones she remembered from Muggle school- stopping bullies, checking for hall passes and the like. However since this request was coming from Kingsley, the Minister of Magic, she knew the job would be more than it sounded.

"There will a spot waiting for you at the Ministry when you graduate. I would like for you to eventually be an Auror. Now, I've told Headmistress McGonagall that this year's duty may require certain privileges. She'll keep you out of trouble- I understand that that's one thing you've never been very good at."

The Minister chuckled and his own joke and Hermione grinned back. "Thank you, Minister."

"Thank you, Miss Granger." He opened the door for her and followed her out of the room. "I'll let you get back to your friends now. Mrs. Weasley may need my help downstairs."


	3. Anyone Else Worth Considering

A/N: It's been a bit too long, but not **too** long. That was like a week, right? More or less... Anyways, your reviews have been so great so far. Thank you so, so much. I very much appreciate each of them. Enjoy and let me know what you think, pretty please.

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Draco Malfoy's bags had already been loaded on the Hogwarts Express and his old Barred Owl, Melangell- Angel, for short- was checked in. His mother had kept up her old tradition of secretly tucking a few extra Galleons in his trouser pockets- enough for all the trolley sweets he could possibly want. His father, on the other hand, had broken the tradition of seeing his son off. Lucius had instead chosen to stay in the relatively secure social atmosphere of Malfoy Manor, where he had said his usual, cold farewell to his son about an hour earlier. With all of these things finished, Draco took a step towards the train, ready to cross the busy platform, only to have a small but strong hand grab his shoulder, holding him back. He turned to see his mother, eyes a bit misty from seeing her only son of to his last year of school, even though she had done the same the year before, not expecting the odd eight year.

"Wait- I need one last look at my boy." She had a hand on each of his shoulders now, beaming. "You look so handsome, Draco."

The corner of his mouth turned up and he pulled his mother into a hug, kissing the top of her head, as he now towered over her. Draco remembered how she used to do the same to him each year; she would wrap him in this same hug, kissing the top of his head. He had always been so embarrassed by it, even just a year earlier, but Narcissa was stronger than she looked. She would hold him there despite his protests, cooing motherly cliches with real feeling.

She didn't struggle out of his hug as he had always done with hers. She smiled and, when her son finally let her go, wiped tears from her face. "You'll be wonderful this year. I love you very much."

He nodded. "I know. I love you too, mum."

"Your father loves you as well." Draco knew his face must have lost whatever softness it had shown his mother, as she defended the statement further. "He wishes he could be here, you know. He would have come..." She trailed off, but did not look away from her darling child.

_But he didn't want to risk any disturbances with a public appearance,_ the young wizard mentally finished his mother's statement. He was fully aware that there was hardly a witch or wizard that was happy to see the Malfoy's get off scot-free. Despite the courts ruling (which was, Draco was sure, heavily influenced by some sort of donation) that the old family's last minute abandonment of the Death Eaters made them innocent, everyone knew what side they had supported for the majority of the war and the centuries that lead to it. No one was inclined to believe they switched sides for any noble reason, either; no, they, even more so than other deserters, quite clearly had cowardly intentions. Even now, as mother said good-bye to son, both were aware of the rude looks shot in their direction.

Narcissa kissed her son's cheek. "Go, or you won't find a good compartment."

Malfoy obliged, looking back to wave at his mother one last time before he left her sight in a large crowd of young wizards and their families. He was held up a bit by the crowd. Reunions and farewells proved to be a hard thing to get through. As he walked, he listened to bits and pieces of conversations, a pastime he was to reluctant to admit he had grown fond of.

"Now you listen to Professor Sprout," an elegantly, albeit eclectically dressed elderly woman lectured Neville Longbottom. "You make everyone proud, now."

An older boy looked around, no looking at his younger sister, to whom he was talking. "No, you need to find your own compartment. You can't be a tag-along all this year, I told you."

"I'm not asking you to wait for me."

This voice made Draco's head snap in its direction. Ron Weasley was talking quietly, by his standards, to Hermione Granger. Though he didn't want an altercation, he was admittedly nosy and did want to hear. By cover of crowd, the Slytherin risked getting a bit closer. Weasley continued, unaware. "I'm telling you that I'll waiting for you, and I'd like it very much if you didn't, uh... _go_ with anyone this year."

"That's the same thing," Granger replied. "But if you're not ready, you're just not ready. I've told you that before." There was a pause in which Draco found it necessary to look at the pair, just to be sure he wasn't discovered. He was safe for the moment, as the two were fixed on each other. Ron was doing something Draco could only describe as _gazing romantically_, while Hermione had his rather brutish hand held tightly in her delicate one, giving him a stern, but still kind, look. As Draco rolled his eyes, deciding it was time to go find his compartment, Granger continued. "Besides, there won't be anyone else worth considering."

That was the last he heard of the conversation, as he walked away and was soon in the train, looking for a compartment. After searching a few- or rather, opening doors and finding an assortment of people including but not limited to a snogging couple, some giggling third years and quite a few Gryffindors who gave very dirty looks- Malfoy found a friendly face. This face came in the form of a tall, dark Slytherin who had already leisurely stretched across a bench seat.

"Zabini," Malfoy said as greeting as he sat down opposite his friend.

Blaise Zabini, uncharacteristically not surrounded by fawning girls, sat up and looked at his watch dramatically. "Well, what a blower. Draco Malfoy, on the train before last call. I see mummy dearest has dialed it back this year?"

"Father didn't attend this year, I'm afraid. Sped us up a bit."

"Ah. For the better, I'd say. My parents barely decided to come and we were much less in the eye and all that." Blaise wasn't being rude. He was a very honest person, which, paired with a talkative trait, meant he was constantly telling everyone everything that was on his mind. Draco had always liked that, as he knew very few people that did similarly. Blaise's thoughts were never dull, either. They were always quite insightful, or at least interesting. "Eh, did I tell you already?"

"Tell me what?"

"Irish girls," he said with great importance, two hands held out in front of himself as if to say, _wait for it... _However, it seemed Zabini had nothing else to say on the subject. He was silent, waiting for Draco's reaction.

"Yes?" Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "What about them?"

"They're my new thing." Blaise smiled proudly.

Malfoy found himself smiling, as well. "Is it the hair or the accent?"

"I'm not completely sure yet, but I do know that I am incredibly fond of each and every one of their assets. This summer-" Blaise went silent as the compartment door flung open to reveal a voluptuous, severe-looking witch.

"There you are, Draco," Pansy Parkinson exclaimed. "Budge up there, oof!" She didn't give him time to move; even as she said it, she was taking her seat, almost on his lap. Draco scooted over to give her more room as he had been raised with parents with a great respect for manners, when in the right company.

"Anyways," Blaise continued, annoyed and completely unabashed in the newly mixed company. "This summer we vacationed in Florida for a bit to get away from all the war bullocks and I ran into this Irish girl- made me rub sunscreen all over her constantly, 'cause she was pretty pale, but I didn't mind, of course."

"Oh, Merlin. More conquest stories, boys?" Pansy rolled her eyes. "I've told you before, Zabini, Muggles don't count towards your totals."

Blaise huffed. "Yes, they do. A lack of magic doesn't make anyone less attractive... or talented, in the scope of it all." He looked at them both meaningfully. "I mean in bed." Draco chuckled. Pansy still looked slightly disgusted, but mostly confused- though, to her credit, she usually looked this way. "We had sex," Blaise said to her as if talking to a small child. "She was good at it."

"That's so gross," Pansy said. "I'm, like... ew. I'll be back later, I'm going to go see if Goyle made it yet." She kissed Malfoys cheek and stood, leaving quickly.

"Really?" Blaise glared at Malfoy as they were left alone again.

"What?"

"You haven't ended that rubbish yet?"

Draco grinned. "Why would end a relationship that's still... beneficial _in the scope of it all,_ as you's say?" Seeing his friend's unamused face, he tried another, equally true answer. "I've tried, alright? It's easier said than done with her."

"Not really." Blaise continued his glaring for a second, but then went back to the prior subject. "So, if we are in agreement that the Irish girl _did_ count, that brings me to a round 20 for the summer. It may sound a bit small, but let's not forget that STDs are not curable by magic yet and I don't have a death wish. What were you at?" Blaise, for a former supporter of the Dark Lord, was very progressive. Draco was sure his friend's not-so-severe views on Muggles and Mudbloods came from his love of women in general.

Malfoy's smirk returned, as it did regularly. On him, the confidence was radiant, sexy; it was the basic ingredient of his reliable charm. "I win. 28."


	4. The Library

A/N: Woohoo new chapter! I thought I'd clarify something in response to a review. I don't think Pansy is disgusted by Blaise and Draco's competition; she'd disgusted that Blaise had sex with/is counting the time he had sex with a Muggle. I didn't make that as clear as I could haven, so there's a little explanation. We'll see that more later. Anyways, enjoy!

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After the last of the first years were sorted, Headmistress McGonagal having already given her speech, Hermione removed herself from the Great Hall quietly as the others finished eating.

There were many things she missed about Hogwarts during her year of traveling in search of Voldemort's horcruxes. She missed the enormous, decadent meals served regularly. She missed the feeling of safety that radiated from the castle walls, as if Hogwarts were some warm, glowing pocket of the world that, even in the darkest of times, would remain just so. She missed the sense of cautious familiarity she had regarding the castle and it's grounds; Hermione always thought she had read of and seen all of it's secrets, but she was infinitely surprised by what she didn't know. She missed the fact that magic was such a commonplace thing, that it's existence was just an simple, given fact to everyone. Most of all, she missed the library.

As she pushed open the heavy wood doors, Hermione was reminded of just why it was she had longed for her library- and it did feel like_ her_ library- wholeheartedly. The walls were lined with shelves that seemed to go on forever, the same shelves forming row after cozy row of books, pages, words. Each word promised not only some morsel of knowledge, but also a moment of silent mental stimulation- in short, euphoria. For one of the few times since the beginning of the war, Hermione felt she truly was home.

Despite the room's recognizable beauty, the battle had clearly left its mark. There were piles of books in all corners, some which would be irreparably damaged had Hogwarts not been a school of magic. Others had simply been knocked of shelves in the violent hubbub, needing only to be placed back in their proper place. It appeared these little things had gone undone in the rush to repair the castle for the school year. Hermione looked around the room. The Madame Pince appeared to be down at the start-of-term feast. Hermione thought, _Surely she wouldn't mind..._

Soon the Brightest Witch of Her Age was almost entirely absorbed in the duty she had put upon herself. She enjoyed the organization almost as much as seeing books that even she had yet to hear of. The only sounds were the faint rustling of pages as she searched unfamiliar texts and the swishing of her robes as she walked; a smile slid onto the young witch's face as she realized why the scene was so familiar. The quiet reminded her of sneaking down to the restricted section with Harry and Ron so many years ago, stuffed under Harry's Invisibility Cloak. In an instant, Hermione was filled with the terribly heavy feelings of longing and guilt: she felt guilt for being the one who caused the separation from her dear friends, and longing to seeing them, even for a time when the three were happily together at the school, switching classes and complaining about homework. She also felt guilty for the status in which she left her relationship with Ron. These feelings weighed so heavily, in fact, that she missed the table as she tried to place a particularly heavy book, _The Creation of Magic: What We Know of Incantation Roots,_ upon it. It hit the floor with a thud, making Hermione jump.

She found herself jumping a second time as she heard several similar thuds from the other side of the library, followed by a voice. "Hello," it called.

Hermione recognized the voice by it's uncloaked annoyance. She walked around the shelves, refusing to yell across a library; she would never. "Hello?" The voice called again, even more impatiently.

"Malfoy?" She found him, looking for the source of the mysterious thud that she had caused, just as she was searching for the voice. She estimated he was close enough to hear her talking in a library-appropriate voice. The tall, blonde wizard turned towards her, the curiosity quickly dropping from his face. "Granger."

"Why aren't you at the feast?"

"I've been to seven already. They get repetitive."

Hermione's head filled with several rude comments about how this attitude seemed similar to his attitude towards girls, but she bit her tongue. Instead, she raised an eyebrow at him. "So you're.. _reading?_

"You're not the only one with that capability." He looked away from her, stooping to pick up the books he had caused the loud noise. She bent to help, picking up one by the time he had the rest. She held it out to him and he took it without comment, setting it on the top of the pile he now held.

"Potter and Weasley didn't come back this year?"

Hermione had begun to walk away, but she turned back to answer. He was back at work, sorting his pile of books and not looking her way. The question sounded nonchalant, casual, but the lack of hostility seemed odd. "No, they're at the Ministry now, in Auror training."

"Right," once again, he didn't look away from his work. He pointed his want at an old, olive-colored book and mumbled. The spine, which had been cracked, mended in seconds. He was, for some odd reason, repairing the books. She decided not to ask, however, as it wasn't the first time she had seen him doing something strange.

She nodded. "Right. Well, I'll be over there." She motioned vaguely towards the other side of the library and he nodded in reply.

For the next hour, Hermione continued her work. Though she couldn't clear her head, she could clog it up enough to not have to dwell on one thing- namely, her friends and their seperation, which had only just begun but already stung. Sshe could almost forget Malfoy was there. Once again, she didn't see him, and she only heard the very occasional rustling or shuffling of pages and books. Having definitely made an admittedly small dent in the large piles of books, she decided she should join the rest of her classmates, who were most likely headed to bed. She had, after all, woken up very early to catch the train and was very tired. Telling herself she'd shower in the morning since there were no classes until Monday and it was only Saturday, she went straight to her dormitory.

Ginny was waiting on Hermione's bed, already in her pajamas with her fiery red hair up in a large, messy bun. "Finally," the younger witch sighed, sitting up. "Are you going to tell me now?" Ginny was curious about how Hermione had handled things with Ron. The two girls hadn't had a chance to talk privately since they said goodbye to their families at Platform 9 3/4, as they spent the train ride with Neville, Luna and several of Ginny's friends. Then, Ginny had gone to the feast, which Hermione had escaped. Now, Hermione knew it should have been weird to talk to someone about her relationship with their brother, but Ginny was different. Ginny Weasley was like a sister to Hermione as well, and they had never betrayed each other.

"There's not much to tell, honestly." Hermione went to her truck, which had been brought to the foot of her bed during the feast. She easily picked out pajamas, a benefit of her well-organized packing. "I told him that if he's not ready to be _together, _I'm not going to pretend we are. I'm not promising him I'll wait around on the sidelines. I know all of this stuff has been rough for him, "she said, avoiding having to say _Fred's death_, especially around Ginny. "But- I don't know. It's been hard for me, too. I need to figure everything out without him."

Ron had made what he wanted very clear; he wanted Hermione to work at the Ministry as an Auror, he wanted to take a year and sort out his feelings before they got into any sort of serious relationship. He was still upset about Fred, the war and all of his losses. It seemed to Hermione everyone had easily forgotten that she had risked everything in the war, too. She risked her life, her parents and her relationship with everyone around her. Though the war was won, a lot of these things became casualties, along with so many people. These things considered, she didn't feel she needed time. She thought, as always, that together they would be stronger. When Ron refused to be together "just yet," she made a definite decision on going back to school. She had wanted to all summer, but she felt guilty. Now he promised he would wait, but she would not do the same. If she was going through with it, going back to school to figure her life out, she was not going to commit halfway. She was selfish, so very selfish, and it hurt her almost as much as she was sure it hurt Ron.

Ginny looked at her friend, waiting for more, but Hermione had nothing else to say. In stead, she pulled her robes off and her pajamas on. "And you and Harry? How did that goodbye go?"

"_Very _well, if you must know." She grinned at Hermione's eyeroll, obviously happy to talk about Harry, as always. "He'll be visiting as much as possible- I'll see him on the first Hogsmede trip, actually." Ginny rolled onto her back, making room for Hermione, who plopped down into the open space. "It's so weird, not being with him. How does it _already_ feel weird?"

"I don't know." Hermione felt it, too. It was sad and strange, but she was excited. That was what made the guilt worse. "Well be okay, though. We'll write to them loads, and it's not like we haven't been alone before."

Ginny sighed. "Yeah. I'm going to bed_._" She stood up and headed across the small dormitory towards her bed, turning the lights out with a flick of her wand. "_Nox._ Where did you go during the feast, by the way?"

"The library."

She heard a quick laugh from the dark, in the direction of Ginny's bed. "Of course."


	5. The Cold

A/N: And here's the next one. Enjoy!

* * *

It was the second day the students of Hogwarts had been back from break, and the drop of temperature was already apparent. Classes had yet to start, but the few sunny days before homework and their promised days of laying about on the lawn were thwarted by a chilling wind. It would be hot again in a day or two, but the wind had come just in time to disappoint.

Draco Malfoy, unlike his classmates, was dressed for the cold weather. Almost as a form of unspoken protest, the students of Hogwarts ignored the cold, wearing short sleeves, thin fabrics and, in a few cases, shorts. Draco had had enough forethought to throw on a black jacket over his plain grey t-shirt and jeans before he left to take a walk along the lake with Pansy. His companion, however, chose short, flowing sundress. She folded her arms across her chest as the two strolled, trying to stay warm.

It had been uncomfortably silent for a few minutes and Draco sensed that Pansy knew his motive for suggesting this walk. "Listen," he broke the silence with a confident voice.

"I'm cold," Pansy replied.

He blinked slowly, used to the evasion but nevertheless annoyed. "Yes, it's colder than I thought it would be, but-"

"You have a jacket."

"Would you like my jacket?" He had already begun taking it off before her answer, sure he knew what it would be.

"Well, I'd like for you to offer it." He took it off and handed it to her instead of putting it around her, as she expected. In the end, she reached for it a second too late, just enough to make the whole exchange awkward. She finally put it on, pulling it tight around herself.

"I don't think we should be together anymore," he returned to his intended subject.

"Why?" Parkinson replied, her voice without worry, but with genuine wonder as to how he could possible think separation was for the better.

"My family is having a rough time, you know that. I don't think it's fair for you to-"

"I know I've never been your 'girlfriend,' Draco. I don't have a problem with you sleeping around."

"I know. That's not what I'm talking about." He wished, for the millionth time, that she wasn't so stubborn. Even if she had a problem, he wouldn't care. He didn't consider them to be in a relationship, exclusive or otherwise. In his mind, they were friends who had sex, and not close friends at that. They barely spoke of anything other than who she currently hated or how great he looked on a given day. She did most of the talking.

She went on, ignoring him. "All I want to know is that in a few years, when it's time to make a choice and settle down, you pick me."

The comment was so common to Draco that he barely noted it. Instead, he was observing the color of the leaves on the large trees of Hogwarts. They were green, not quite as deep as the emerald he preferred, but light and lively. The color seemed odd on such a cold day. Soon, of course, they'd change- yellow, orange then brown- and they would eventually just fall off. But for now, they remained the same, despite the fact that everything around them was accelerating into winter.

"Draco?"

He snapped out of it, turning his head from the trees to her. "If you're looking for me to propose, you'll be disappointed."

"For now." She smirked at the tired frown on his face. "If you really want a break, go for it. You'll charge your mind when your horny and bored." Draco chose not to comment. Though he was often bored, his modesty was low enough for him to be able to see the girls practically lined up for him to choose from. She'd find that out soon enough, though, wen he didn't come running back. "Dinner, then?"

Draco sighed. "Pansy..."

"I'm not asking you to dinner as a date, you git. I figured we both have to eat."

"I'm okay. I can grab something from the kitchens later."

"Goodbye, Draco." She walked off towards the doors to the Great Hall and he watched her go, taking his jacket with her. After a minute or two headed he in the same direction with a different destination in mind.

The library would surely be empty, as classes had yet to start. Of course, Draco had thought the same thing when he skipped dinner the night before, only to be disturbed. He didn't feel like sitting through the opening speech, which no doubt spoke of the importance of equality while simultaneously condemning Slytherin House and it's Pureblood members. He went off to read, trying to find a quiet space as the Room of Requirement felt tainted now, disturbed by all that had transpired near the end of the year before. He supposed he library would be quiet, whether per it's rules or simply a lack of people to make noise. Finding the place in such a mess was not the plan. He had been deeply enthralled in the simple task of cleaning, repairing and organizing books when he heard a clatter, caused by the bumbling Hermione Granger. It was, as usual, difficult to ignore her, but he managed.

As he flicked his wand, the heavy doors to the library creaked open. Hermione was were she had been the night before, organizing a stack of books, the colors of which spanned the rainbow but the size of which was constant: huge. She was struggling with a garnet hunk of a book, running her wand up and down it's spine in intense concentration a s whispering incantations. Draco crossed to her and tapped the book with his already drawn wand instead of greeting her, causing her to jump. The book repaired itself as she did so, Malfoy being familiar with the spell she was looking for. He was rough on books as a child; he threw, chewed and ripped them. His mother had always fixed them wordlessly and handed them right back.

"There."

"Thank you." Hermione glared at him, apparently too polite to say what he knew she was thinking- she could have figured it out.

He nodded and headed towards the back the the library, past dozens of old shelves and hundreds of older books. It was obvious that the two had the same idea for repair, though Malfoy wondered if they had similar motives. He only wondered for a second, of course. Granger was interesting enough- complex, even- but she and the reasons she had for her actions were of no concern to Draco. When he got back to where he had been last not, Draco pulled a bottle of Firewhiskey from deep in a nearby shelf. The librarian was out, so why the hell shouldn't he have a little fun?

Draco found it quite easy to forget about Granger, getting lost in his repairs and his drink, until she heard a little noise coming from across the library, where he knew she was still working. She was humming lightly, but it carried in the echoing room. Draco frowned, taking a large, burning swig of the Firewhiskey. The humming brought back unwanted memories: memories of last year and the whimpering noise she was left making, a new scar, he later learned, etched into her arm. He knew he was soft now, but then he had tried to bare it, too cowardly to cover his ears in the company. Women in pain were hard for him. Women in pain reminded him of his mother.

Now, no one could see. Now, he sunk into a leather library chair near his table of books, cradling his bottle and only unplugging his ears for long enough to take another long sip of his drink.

"Malfoy." I seemed to Malfoy it had only been seconds, but the lack of light shining in through the windows revealed to him that it had been two hours, maybe more. "Draco Malfoy!"

He looked away from the windows and at the source of his name. Hermione was peeking around a bookcase to his left, hair disheveled and looking very tired. "What do you want, Granger?"

"Curfew was half an hour ago.""

"Then you're breaking rules."

"I thought I'd let you know before I left."

"Good for you," Draco slurred, looking away from her and back out the window. It was dark out, but he could see. As usual, all of Hogwarts seemed to glow like some magic no one, not even its professors, had ever discovered. He heard Hermione leave, but stayed where he was. He didn't feel like moving, or answering questions about where he had been to his Slytherin housemates. Once again, he drifted off.

"Draco Malfoy." He blinked his eyes open again. Still dark.

"Just go to bed, Granger, I'm fine." He turned to his left, not seeing the slight, bushy-haired Gryffindor he expected. Rather, he saw a tall, thin, but never frail woman staring at him severely.

"I don't make a habit out of going to my bed until all of my students are in theirs, Mister Malfoy, and as I was told you were missing during dormitory checks, I could not do so." Headmistress McGonagall replied.

Malfoy jumped out of his chair, forgetting his bottle of Firewhiskey until it clunked to the ground, spilling what little was left. He straightened his clothes and hair in vain. "I-"

"-will go to bed, of course, and come to my office in the morning to receive your punishment." She raised an eyebrow, challenging any oncoming argument silently. Malfoy only nodded, working hard through a boozy veil not to scowl. "Goodnight, Mister Malfoy. See that you get to bed in one piece."

"Goodnight, Headmistress." He started on his way, passing her on the way to the library door.


	6. A Favor

The first day of classes, a day which would usually bring Hermione great joy, was only able to raise her spirits minimally. She had written to both Harry and Ron on her first day in the castle and had yet to hear back drink either boy. Though it had only been a few days since she set one of the Hogwarts owls off with her letters, Hermione had hoped for quick responses. She knew they had to have had the chance to read what she had written by now. It was only the matter of her friends having the time and inclination to write her back.

She reminded herself of this as she sat down in her first class- History of Magic, which she knew required vigorous note-taking. Lucky, she thought, as she was looking for some sort of distraction. Sure enough, from the very moment class began, Professor Binns went into a unenthusiastic soliloquy about the importance of "conquering mono-causality."

"Nothing," Binns droned, hovering about three inches above his chair, "has only one cause. Eliminating just one small element from history, no matter how small, could change anything. It could also change nothing. We will be focusing on the idea this semester as we cover a wide variety of historical events, starting with the introduction of Time-Turners. Please turn to page 578 in your text books."

Hermione did as she was asked, taking out her history book, which looked as old as the stories it contained. As she turned the yellowed pages in her book, the classroom door creaked open loudly. She turned to see who was interrupting the class, as did everyone else. It was rare for anyone to come willingly into Binns' room.

"Um- Headmistress McGonagall asked me to come get Hermione Granger," stuttered a tall, wiry boy, obviously uncomfortable with being the loudest person in such a quiet classroom. Professor Binns didn't seem to notice the announcement. The boy raised his voice. "Uh, Professor?"

The old ghost nodded, but showed no other sign of anything being out of place. Hermione took this as her cue to leave, gathering her things from the otherwise empty two-person desk and heading for the door.

'Just go to her office, I think," the boy told Hermione as she shut the door to the classroom, which she now noticed had a large crack through it's middle- most likely from a wayward spell on the night of the battle. As the boy took off, Hermione started toward McGonagall's office. As she walked, she surveyed the damage around her. There were broken bricks and stones in the castle's walls, cracked windows and discolored splotches from badly aimed spells. The worst of the damaged had been repaired, as it had everywhere else. Hermione felt herself constantly looking at the damage, wondering what exactly had caused each scar, and who the spell had missed- or worse, hit. The thoughts were morbid and she knew it.

The sudden trip to McGonagall's office didn't really worry Hermione, however. She was never one to break rules and her time in he castle this year hadn't been an exception. There really was no reason for McGonagall to call Hermione to her office, unless it was to see how she was doing after the eventful previous year._ Or_, she decided, _to ask for a favor._

* * *

Hermione hadn't been in the Headmaster's office since her sixth year, when it belonged to Dumbledore. The regal statue that guarded its entrance looked as it had then, either undamaged by the the battle or fully restored. "Password," it commanded, only its mouth moving.

She had forgotten this part. "I don't actually know it. Headmistress McGonagall sent for me."

"Name," it said, its tone and expression unchanged. It seemed to be the only truly stone statue in the castle, and even it was alive.

"Hermione Granger," she said, and the statue found this answer acceptable, as it turned aside for Hermione to ascend the glossy grey stairs. When she reached the top, she paused, feeling as though she should knock on the threshold.

"To class, Mr. Malfoy," she heard McGonagall say. Soon Draco Malfoy exited her office, stopping to look at Hermione. He held her eyes for only a second, then continued down the stairs. The exchange of gazes was far too quick and too little for Hermione to tell what had happened in his meeting with McGonagall. She could assume, however, that htthe Slytherin had been receiving his punishment for staying out past curfew. Hermione allowed herself a small smile. She had tried to warn him.

"Come in, Miss Granger," McGonagall called. She stood behind the desk as Hermione entered and gestured toward the chair across from her, sitting only when Hermione did so.

Hermione took a second to look around the room. It was still warm, inviting, with a fire going in the fireplace and two full-cushioned armchairs. Hermione noticed with small smile that the office was subtly decorated in reds and golds- Gryffindor colors- even though MaGonagall could no longer be Head of House. The office was also a bit more organized than it had been in Dumbledore's days. A large portrait had been added to the wall, near MaGonagall's desk. It was currently empty, though Hermione was sure it belonged to Severus Snape, McGonagall's predecesor. One similarity wasobvious, however. Fawkes, Dumbledore's pheonix, still stood on his perch.

"I'm glad you decided to join us here at Hogwarts again this year.

"I'm glad I was able to. I really wanted to complete my full seven years," Hermione replied. Though she would sure it would sound as though she were kissing up, she meant it. She hoped McGonagall knew her well enough my now to see that.

"I am assuming Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley did not feel similarly."

Hermione grinned, aware that the Headmistress was making a joke. "I don't think they wanted to do the first six."

"Well, we can't keep all of our students forever," she sighed. "I don't mean to keep you out of class, of course, so I'll get to the point. I have to ask you for a favor." Hermione felt an unspoken 'again' at the end of McGonagall's sentence.

A favor, as she had guessed. There was no way for Hermione to be sure of what it was, but she was sure that she would do it to the best of her ability, if only because McGonagall was the one asking. Still, she waited to hear what she would need to do before agreeing.

"The powers that be at the Ministry have decided that, in order to keep out student population up, we need to, in some way, show that Hogwarts is once again safe for everyone. As they were also looking for a way to boost moral across the Wizarding World and we are also looking for a way back into their good graces, Hogwarts will be hosting a ball," McGonagall spoke quickly, as if she were reciting a memorized speech. "The Minister suggested a unity ball, to be specific. I was hoping you would help to plan it by serving as co-chair."

Hermione nodded. She should have expected something like this- it made perfect sense for the Ministry to get involved in promoting unity. And Hermione had, after all, become the Daily Prophet's poster girl for all things unity. "Of course I'll do it." It wouldn't be too hard, and Hermione figured another extracurricular would do her good.

McGonagall gave her a look of approval. "You won't be alone, of course. We can assemble a committee, the Ministry will be offering help along the way, and you will have a co-chair. But make no mistake, Miss Granger, it will be work and you will be in charge."

Hermione nodded. "I'm used to eventful school years, Headmistress." As soon as se said it, the young witch feared she had been rude.

Headmistress McGonagall, however, grinned. "I know you are. Thank you, Miss Granger. You can return to Professor Binns' class now. I'm sure you don't want to waste your last year of formal education." Hermione stood, glad McGonagall hadn't considered her remark crossing the line. "For now, I'll ask that you do some brainstorminI. I'll call for you again when we find you a co-chair."

Hermione headed back to class happily. She now had something more to distract her from that fact that her best friends had yet to write her, that Ron was probably upset with her, and that she only had a year left at Hogwarts. Professor Binns did not stop his monotonous lecture, apparently unaware she had re-entered. The two-person desk at which she sat previously had one chair occupied. As its second chair was the only seat left, she found herself sitting next to Draco Malfoy.

Sitting with Malfoy would have been bad enough, but she also had no way copy the notes she missed, as he seemed to be taking none. Instead she resumed her note-taking the best she could, expecting him to scoff at her vigorous writing, neat shorthand and rapt attention. However, though he wasn't taking notes, he was paying far too much attention to notice any of these things.


End file.
